January Morning
by medcat
Summary: Written for holiday fic exchange on LiveJournal watson's woes comm. Watson is wounded during WWI.


The January morning started out ordinarily enough…I was smoking my before-breakfast pipe and contemplating a walk to the beehives later that morning when the messenger handed me a telegram. I tore the yellow envelope open with no small amount of trepidation, scanning the terse message rapidly.

"DR WATSON WOUNDED STOP INFORMING YOU PER HIS INSTRUCTIONS STOP DR JONES SUPERINTENDENT FINAL STOP"

I let out my breath with a hiss. Well, at least it was not the worst I feared…although I noticed, rather to my dismay, that my hands were not entirely steady all of a sudden. I bit my lip almost till it bled. This was not the time for hysterics; the sooner I could pack the sooner I could see Watson. I hastened to pack my valise, briefly explained the situation to my housekeeper and hurried to catch the next train out.

The day was brilliantly sunny. The sunlight was sparkling off snow crystals like so many diamonds, the beauty of nature seeming to mock my inner turmoil as I paced back and forth through the entire length of the train and smoked. By the time the journey was over, I was surprised to find that I had gone through no less than four dozen cigarettes; also, I noted with clinical detachment, my hands were still trembling.

***

I arrived at the field hospital in the late evening and was led to Watson's cot upon my inquiry. He was either fast asleep or unconscious…my concern must have shown on my face as the nurse answered my unspoken question.  
"He'd come to briefly, sir, an hour or two ago…but was quite disoriented."

I sat down on a chair next to his cot to wait and watch. I was loath to wake him up, as he was smiling in his sleep. Then the dream seemed to change, as he frowned and was murmuring something indistinctly, with a look of great distress on his face. I called his name, shaking his right shoulder gently, when there was no response. "Watson, wake up!" He still did not respond. Now I was growing concerned.

"Watson, wake up! We have a client!" I called in the sternest tone I could muster. His eyes shot open and he exclaimed, "Holmes, for goodness' sake, what time is it?!" Then the light of comprehension came into his eyes and he slumped back onto the pillow with a muttered, "Oh."

"My dear Watson…it_ is_ good to see you."

"Holmes," he acknowledged. His voice was barely audible. He blinked several times before opening his eyes again and fixing his gaze on my face.

"You seem surprised to see me, Watson," I observed.  
"I am."  
"Surely you don't regret your decision to list me as next of kin?" I teased gently. "That is why I was informed…"  
"I see," he sighed.  
"Glad as I am to see you cognizant, Watson…"  
"You mean to ask whether I am in any immediate danger?" he inquired.  
"Frankly, yes."  
"No, Holmes. You can rest assured of that."

He sighed, continuing, "It is just my bad shoulder wounded again; just the same as in Afghan war…I should be grateful, I suppose, that the bullet missed the subclavian artery again this time and that another bullet didn't nick my Achilles tendon…same as last time, happened when I was bending over a patient…Doubt I could return to medical practice this time…" He closed his eyes.

I felt my own heart give a twinge at the bitterness of his tone as he almost-whispered that last sentence, and on impulse, I pressed his hand.  
"Surely you've done enough, Watson?"

That must have been exactly the wrong thing to say, as his eyes shot open and he spoke with a vehemence I would have never expected from someone in his condition. "You just do not understand, do you?!" This brief outburst must have exhausted him, however, as he immediately whispered, "I'm sorry, Holmes…" and it was obvious that he was barely able to remain awake.  
"Sleep, my dear Watson," I said gently, "I'm not going anywhere…we shall talk later."  
"Thank you, Holmes," he murmured and was instantly asleep.

I sat on the chair next to his cot for the next several hours, thinking furiously. By the time he awakened, I had a plan worked out.  
"Watson?"  
"Hmm?"  
"I want you to move to Sussex with me."  
"No."  
"Why, if I may ask?"  
"You may ask…does not mean I shall answer."  
I sighed. This was going to be even more difficult than I anticipated.

"Watson, please…you said yourself, it is doubtful you could return to medical practice. I am asking you as a friend, please do me the favour of sharing my retirement."  
"But Holmes…what would I do?" this last was whispered in a tone so haunted it made my breath catch.  
I strove to inject a note of levity into the proceedings, saying brightly, "Oh, I daresay we shall think of something…Surely you know from prior experience that keeping me in line is a job in itself?"  
I was rewarded with a weary chuckle from the bed's occupant. I continued, more seriously, "The scenery along the walking trails will appeal to your poetic side, I think, Doctor…and there is a young medical practitioner nearby who has, on several occasions, expressed to me his desire to have a more experienced physician to consult…"  
"Well, if you put it that way, how could I refuse?" Watson murmured with a slight smile.


End file.
